Clear as day: I don’t want a man I have to drag along!
My name is Catherine Newcombe, and I live in Henley, a quaint town by the Thames in Oxfordshire. I’ve been with William for almost three years, and we’ve shared a home for the past year. We’re close to each other’s families. Last spring, we both started new jobs, sparking dreams of a wedding, a child, and a future that felt within reach. But everything came crashing down one dark day in early June when William’s life shattered. His mother passed away—suddenly and cruelly. On her way back from work, she collapsed in the street from a heart attack and died en route to the hospital. The blow was devastating, the pain unbearable for all of them.
I stayed by his side constantly. William is the man I love, the one I chose to spend my life with. I shared his sleepless nights, wiped away the tears streaming down his face, and silently endured as he drowned his sorrows in whiskey, emptying one glass after another. I held his hand while he plunged into the abyss of despair, into a black hole devoid of light. Even when he pushed me away, shouted for me not to witness his weakness, I stayed. I couldn’t leave him alone in this hell. He was everything to me, and I was ready to shoulder his pain alongside him.
But as the months drag on, William remains unchanged—broken and lost. He’s locked himself away from the world, avoiding friends and often not saying a word to me for days. Whatever I suggest—heading out, getting a distraction, finding a way to move on—he dismisses, staring blankly and remaining silent. He spends entire days at home, fixated on one spot, doing nothing. He even took unpaid leave, risking the loss of his job altogether. I don’t know how to pull him out of this quicksand. I grasp the gravity of losing his mother, but it’s as if a part of him perished with her. When I try to say life goes on, that we must fight for the living, he accuses me of being heartless and cynical. Perhaps he’s right, but I can’t ignore the bigger picture.
What if this isn’t the end of our trials? Life isn’t kind—we’ll face more hardships ahead. If he crumbles with every tragedy like a brittle twig, how will we manage? If I must always be the one carrying everything, I just can’t bear it. Nor do I want such a fate! I need a strong, dependable man by my side, someone with whom I can share life’s burdens, not someone I have to haul along like a heavy load. I’m weary of being his support, his lifesaver, while he drowns in his own sea of tears without trying to swim.
I’m terrified to admit this even to those closest to me. What if they judge me, call me cold-hearted? I can imagine friends giving me reproachful looks: “His mother died, and you’re thinking about yourself!” But I’m not made of stone—I also suffer, crying at night as I look at the stranger my William has become. Where is the guy who laughed with me, planned our future, dreamed with me? He’s gone, and I don’t know if he’ll ever return. I’m scared—scared to lose our love, scared to be stuck with him like this, scared to leave and end up regretting it.
I don’t want to abandon him in his time of need, but neither can I continue being his nanny. Every day, watching him fade and feeling myself fade with him suffocates me. Work, home, his silence—it all weighs down on me like a concrete slab. I dreamed of a family and happiness, but instead, I’ve found endless sorrow and loneliness together. How can I save our love? How can I pull him out of this swamp? Or perhaps it’s time to rescue myself. I don’t know what to do. My heart is torn between pity for him and the desire to live my own life. Please, offer guidance—how do I bring him back to life, or find the strength to leave if he’s no longer the man I loved? I’m at the edge of a precipice and need light to find my way out.
